


Double Double-Cross

by urisarang



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Are these feelings real?, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Delayed Aftercare, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Migs makes sure he enjoys it, No beta we die like me trying to tag this story, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Or is it just traumatic bonding?, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, The alternative is worse, Whump, but he still has to make a show of it to keep his cover, with basically ZERO communication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29900607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urisarang/pseuds/urisarang
Summary: Migs glances at the four troopers who remain behind as they shift on their feet, not uncomfortably—but with anticipation.  Excited for what is to come next.  For what they are about to do to Mando unless Migs does something.His eyes flick up to meet Mando’s but the man’s eyes are pressed tightly closed, his lips faintly trembling as the color drains from his face.He can’t let this happen.  But can he really stop it without giving himself away?  He’s supposed to hate the Mandalorian, more than anything, so it wouldn’t make sense for him tonotlet them have their fun while he watched.Unless. . .“Who said I wouldn’t want a go?”((The one where Morak goes to hell in a handbasket with Mando getting captured while Migs pretends to be on the Imp's side—only to end up in a situation where he has to make a terrible choice))
Relationships: Din Djarin/Migs Mayfeld
Comments: 76
Kudos: 106
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	1. The Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghost_teeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_teeth/gifts).



> This damn freaking story got so far away from me that it has chapters! And a plot? And maybe even some character development?  
> I attempted to wrangle it a few times before giving up and letting it do what it wanted haha.
> 
> Got 3/4 chapters done and I'll post them over the next couple of days as I get free time. Hope you enjoy this accidental _novella_. (It's legit at 45 pages without the end chapter) xD

Everything goes to shit in the span of about two minutes. Their ‘get in and get out’ plan? Up in flames faster than a lit cigarette in a rhydonium mine. All thanks to that son of a bitch Hess. He just has to be taking a break, lounging in the officer’s mess right when Migs needs to get to the terminal. 

He needs to get in there but he can’t do it. Can’t face him.

That should have been the end of it but Mando—big bad Mando with the morals? He goes in to do it himself. It has only been what? 20 minutes since Migs had given the sanctimonious prick his spiel on why the Mando was just as bad as him—or at least he would be soon. Talk about a quick turnaround.

Migs would be tempted to gloat if it were any other situation. If they were anywhere else but in the heart of a secret Imperial base with Valin fucking Hess not 30 feet from him. Kinda spoils the whole mood being within blaster distance of that bloated sack of self-importance. 

So he lets the Mando go and do his thing watching from the sidelines. He is surprised to see the helmet actually come off—it had to of course, but still—he hadn’t expected it. Migs had figured something would come up to prevent the guy from going down that path any further. The guy was a real-deal hero type after all.

But no such luck, seems he’s destined to crawl in the mud with Migs after all.

The terminal scans Mando’s face, everything looks like it’s going good when alarms suddenly start blaring. 

Intruder alert. 

He knows that code, all Imperials have that one drilled into them early on. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Migs shifts his weight on his feet feeling torn. He knows the alarm was tripped by Mando, has to have been, so what the hell is he going to do?

Does he cut and run? Nah, too suspicious. Try and blend in as just another trooper? He might be able to do that one, a lot of people saw his face but he’s a professional bullshitter—but that would leave the Mando high and dry. 

Try and shoot their way out like heroes?

Migs laughs internally at that one. They’d be dead within minutes now that the base is on high alert. He knows the protocol, specialized troopers are already on their way here. He’s got seconds left to decide before they get here. Mando turns away from the terminal and Migs sees his face for the first time.

Fuck he looks scared.

Migs wasn’t expecting that. To see fear in the Mando’s eyes. The very Mando who was the first to rush in against those droids on the prison ship. The same Mando who fought a fucking krayt dragon, of all things, and lived to tell the tale. Migs had himself convinced the Mando was incapable of fear, that he was wired differently from the rest of them and that’s why he could do the things he did. 

It’s like taking a body blow seeing open and undisguised _fear_ on Mando’s face. He’s just some fucking guy, not some larger-than-life myth. Migs scrubs a hand over his face, this changes things—he wishes to hell it didn’t—but it does.

Fuck.

He walks into the room making a flying by the seat of his pants last fucking second decision that he _might_ live long enough to regret. Maybe.

Bullshit, so damn much bullshit, comes out of his mouth in the next two minutes that not even he can keep track of it all. His mouth is running on autopilot, but it works. Somehow, against all odds, it works. 

They buy it. Eating up his story like it’s a home cooked meal after a long tour. 

Best way to sell a lie? Stuff it full of truths and half-truths. He outs himself as ex-Imperial and even admits to having snuck in alongside the Mando—but for an entirely different reason. They run his record, see his stint in the prison colony after breaking into a New Republic prison ship where a New Republic officer was killed.

It earns him back a lot of the points he lost by being ex-Imperial. At least he was out there still fighting the fight and killing traitors to the Empire. Not exactly the truth but close enough he can sell it.

Migs tells them Mando was the one who got him locked up. Spins a tale of him busting him out of the colony for this would-be suicide mission, though he doesn’t mention the cop or the other Mando. Just the two of them, he says.

He goes on to tell them how long he sat in the colony dreaming of the day he could get revenge on the asshole who got him sent away, not exactly true, but neither is it entirely a lie. He did spend a lot of time thinking of the Mando, hating him at first but he came to terms with it. Let it go.

Realized he was mostly mad at himself, for being the kind of guy who _deserved_ to rot on that godforsaken scrap heap of a planet. But they don’t need to know that.

So he went along with Mando’s plans waiting for the right time to make his move. To get his revenge. Sending him in to use the terminal knowing Gideon would have set up an alert if his cruiser’s location was pinged by any unauthorized personnel.

He didn’t know that. A lie, but a believable one with how well-known Gideon is for his paranoia so they buy it. 

By the end of it Valin Hess himself is clapping Migs on his back in a job well done. It takes everything in Migs to not flinch away from that bastard’s touch, but he manages—if just barely. He feels disgusting having that man touch him, even though the armor.

But you know what makes him feel worse than all that? 

The betrayed look in Mando’s eyes. Fucking guy has no poker face whatsoever. Makes sense with the helmet and all, but still. _Damn_. Seems Migs sold it so well even Mando bought into it, both a compliment and an insult. 

To be fair, it wouldn’t be the first time Migs has double-crossed him. Entirely believable if he were the same man Mando had known on that gig rather than the one who came off that prison colony. He had nothing but time and yet more fucking time to think about things. What he had done wrong, why he deserved what he got, and how he had begun to regret _some_ of the choices that had landed him there.

The man who signed up to double-cross a Mando, who willfully ignored the kid on his ship and still did it anyway? 

Migs ain’t that guy anymore. 

He's seen where making selfish calls would get him. So for better or for worse, he’s in the thick of it now. For a mysterious Mando with a lil green kid, kind eyes—A guy whose name he doesn’t even know.

Whatever. He should have died in Burnin Konn anyway. 

When he’s dead and gone ain’t no one gonna have a thing to say about him except maybe ‘good riddance’ and maybe not even that. Has he done anything worth remembering? Had he ever? 

Meanwhile, Mando over here has been making a name for himself all across the Rim—so to speak. Migs risks another look at Mando willing him with his mind to understand, but he’s no Jedi so all he gets back is a look of disappointment and fear before Migs has to break eye contact again.

One thing leads to another and Hess is ordering the prisoner brought to interrogation room three. Migs is invited along, given special treatment for both his efforts in bringing in the rhydonium and the Mandalorian. 

“I want him broken before Gideon arrives,” Hess orders, turning to face Migs. “I’m sure our guest will be more than willing to lend a hand in that—see to it that he gets to have his well-earned _fun_ first.” 

“Sir, yes sir,” says the head of Interrogation. They all salute Hess as he leaves them to it. The head of Interrogation is a big, mean looking son of a bitch. He gives Migs an appraising look over. This is far from regulations but with a shrug, he lets go of whatever qualms he has about someone being in on his work. 

“Strip him,” is his first order to the four men under his command in the room. Mando’s eyes go wide with panic. It's standard procedure for interrogating highly dangerous prisoners, he must have never been captured before. Even the New Republic strip searches their prisoners. 

They did it to Migs anyway. 

Mando starts fighting back in earnest, but it is way, way too late for that. A few hits from shock sticks have him falling down on his knees struggling to breathe. Been there a time or two himself, hurts to watch but Migs can’t afford to look away. That’s his most hated enemy on the ground, he can’t afford to let any sympathy show on his face.

Soon enough they get him stripped and strapped down on a real nasty looking upright interrogation cross. Bindings are attached to his arms and his legs then secured to the cross. His arms are raised above his head and secured tightly against the metal frame. He kicks out his legs struggling as they spread and secure them. Spread far wider than any purpose Migs likes to think about. 

He’s got a real bad feeling about this.

Mando tries to bring his legs in together but there isn’t enough slack. Everything he has is out in the open, on display for everyone to see. It makes Migs’s stomach twist in disgust. Seeing the famously private Mando like this is revolting, especially after all his jabs at the man on the way to the base. 

“We like to get a _taste_ before the goods get too damaged,” the head interrogator says, his voice dripping with malice and intent. He eyes Migs with a raised eyebrow. “I know Admiral said you get first pickings, but do you mind if we have a go at him before you get started? Be a shame to waste such a pretty thing.”

Migs glances at the four troopers who remain behind as they shift on their feet, not uncomfortably—but with anticipation. Excited for what is to come next. For what they are about to do to Mando unless Migs does something.

His eyes flick up to meet Mando’s but the man’s eyes are pressed tightly closed, his lips faintly trembling as the color drains from his face. 

Fuck, he can’t let this happen. But can he really stop it without giving himself away? He’s supposed to hate the Mandalorian, more than anything so it wouldn’t make sense for him to _not_ let them have their fun while he watched. 

Unless. . .

“Who said I wouldn’t want a go?” Migs says, his voice surprisingly normal for how he’s panicking internally. The Mando’s eyes fly open at his words, and if Migs thought he was hurt before it ain’t got nothing on how betrayed he’s looking now. Migs swallows as that gaze lands on him, but he doesn’t have a fucking choice. It’s either Migs or them, and he doesn’t see them being the gentle types. 

Migs makes a show of taking his gloves off and setting them carefully aside on a nearby table as he takes a step closer to where Mando is held. Mando’s head flinches back away from Migs’s outstretched hand but he’s got nowhere to go.

He can’t escape.

“Had no idea he was a looker under all that armor,” Migs muses out loud, as if to himself but it is solely for the benefit of his audience. He needs to sell this. He grips Mando’s chin and forces brown eyes to meet his own as he leans in. A fire of hatred rages to life behind the fear. 

Good, he’ll need it to survive this. 

“Always figured he was so ugly not even a mother could love ya know?” He says over his shoulder conversationally but not taking his eyes off of Mando. “You know they never take it off—their armor that is. Wonder if the rest of them are as pretty as he is.

“Is that why your people wear the helmets? Cause you don’t want to end up like the Twi’leks?” Mando doesn’t answer, his jaw flexing in Migs’s hold. A rough sound of laughter behind Migs, good he’s got some of the audience buying into his show already. Migs leans in close, his lips brushing Mando’s ear.

 _“Trust me,”_ he whispers, barely a breath so none save Mando can hear. _”It’s all for show.”_ He stage whispers the next part louder so that their audience can overhear. “Bet you’d make a good little slave wouldn’t you?” Mando twitches in his hold, Migs pulls back enough to once again meet those pretty brown eyes of his.

No poker face at all, he can see the seeds of doubt and of hope starting to bud. This is going to be tricky. A goddamn tightrope walk over a Sarlacc pit to play both sides and not get caught. 

His grip tightens on Mando’s face, his eyes flicking pointedly to the side where one of the interrogators sits to the back left of Migs. A warning and a reminder of their audience. Mando looks conflicted as if he isn’t sure he can trust Migs or not. 

Well, that’s better than hope so it will have to do.

“Cat got your tongue?” He taunts, his voice cruel. “Never liked the mouthy ones much anyway,” He lets go of Mando’s face, tapping his cheek three times in rapid succession. He does it quickly disguising it as playful love taps but it’s an old underground code. 

**You okay?**

Not many know it, it ain’t Imperial nor New Republic. Something you pick up after enough time in the criminal underground. It’s a long shot but he’s hoping Mando’s reputation wasn’t wrong and he really does know all there is to know about getting hard to get bounties. 

A look of surprise crosses Mando’s face, hope once again creeping in and as much as Migs hates himself—he can’t have that. So he gives Mando an actual love tap across his face to wipe that expression from his face. Anger once again takes hold front and center, it's safer that way.

“Glare all you want tough guy, you’re at my mercy now,” Migs runs his hand along Mando’s throat, feeling the pulse quicken under his fingers. Tap, tap, tap, he risks another message with a finger as he makes a show of his touching being a threat. 

**Won’t hurt you.**

He tightens his grip on Mando’s throat momentarily. Confusion and fear shine in brown eyes, but not full-blown panic thank God. Migs isn’t sure he could do this without Mando being at least somewhat on board or at very least knowing Migs doesn’t want to do this.

He’s not sure he’ll be able to live with himself after all this is said and done, but the thought of letting Mando get gang raped and none too gently by the looks of the guys in the room? He’d rather go down fighting and dying than to let that happen. Pretty sure Mando would feel the same way, but maybe this way they’ll both get out of this alive.

Maybe not whole, but breathing. Sometimes that’s all you can do—breathe. Live. Survive.

Migs releases his hold on Mando’s throat before he starts struggling for breath. ‘Just a show’ his eyes willing Mando to understand, and maybe he does. If just a little bit, the look of betrayal lessening slightly.

A tentative hope growing in its place. Migs's eyes flick to the side again in warning, Mando’s eyes growing wide for a moment until he schools his face. As much as he can that is. The guy is hopeless, but maybe Migs can work with that.

Migs trails his hand lower across Mando’s chest, surprisingly hairless. He wonders idly why the man would bother if no one was going to see it. Same story with the mustache—who exactly is he looking to impress? The Mando’s skin forms goosebumps where his fingers trail and he goes unnaturally still. Doesn’t even breathe.

Interesting.

He looks up watching Mando’s face as his fingers skim over a dark nipple. An audible gasp of air and a look of shock.

“Jeez Mando, a little sensitive aren’t we? Been a while?” He asks flippantly, brown eyes stare into his own. Intense. His head nods just barely. The first he’s tried communicating since the helmet came off. Fuck. 

It’s Migs turn to go wide-eyed and speechless if just for one moment. He wasn’t expecting that sort of reaction.

“How long?” He asks, suddenly afraid of the answer. Mando hesitates, uncomfortableness coming off of him in waves. He brushes his hand against Mando’s nipple again earning another gasping breath. This time he presses his fingers against it instead of moving away. 

Holding it ransom as he asks again.

“Asked you a question Mando, how long since anyone touched you here?” He punctuates his question with a tiny squeeze, he makes it look worse than it is—he doesn’t want to make this harder on the guy than he has to but he’s gotta sell it. 

“Nn—” Mando struggles to get the words out. Hasn’t spoken once since the helmet came off. Migs really hopes that not part of his creed too cause he’s gonna have to break it as well if it is.

“What was that?” He asks, stepping up between the Mando’s legs and leaning in close. _”Please tell me you’ve done this before Mando,”_ he whispers into Mando’s ear. He makes a show of putting his ear to Mando’s lips to hear him better.

“ _Din,_ ” his breath tickling Migs’s ear. He doesn’t get it for a second and then he does. 

His name. Fuck. Before Migs can even start to wrap his mind around that one Mand—Din speaks again.

“Never,” he answers loud enough to be overheard finally playing along—but Gods above does Migs wish he had given any other answer than that one. Migs shuts his eyes tightly, letting his face show what he’s feeling for a moment while he’s pressed in close to Din and their audience can’t see. 

As if it weren’t bad enough that he’s going to have to do this to someone unwilling—but to someone who has never done it? For this to be his first and probably last experience with sex? Maybe Migs should just turn around and try to take them all on. 

“Fuck,” He’d rather eat a blaster bolt than to do this to Din—to anyone. His exclamation gets mistaken for excitement by the head interrogator.

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch ain’t ya?” The man half grumbles half laughs. “If Hess hadn’t personally given the order I’d say to hell with you getting first dibs on a primo ass like that.”

Din’s restraints clink as he jerks backward. Eyes wide and his breathing going rabbit fast. Migs taps his fingers against Din, both a distraction and a message.

**Won’t happen.**

“Don’t worry,” he says both over his shoulder and to Din. “I’ll be sure to be _extra_ gentle with him. Don’t want his first time to scare him off now do we?” Cruel laughter echoes around them at what they think is a joke—but Migs means every word. He wills Din to believe him with his eyes that are at odds with his tone.

Migs trails his hand back up along Din’s body, his neck, stopping at his lips. He brushes his thumb along the bottom of Din’s lip, touching a place that has never before been touched. Din’s lips part on their own as he sucks in a gasp of air that could _almost_ be called a moan. His eyes growing dark.

If that ain’t a pretty sight Migs doesn’t know what is. Well, if nothing else he can make this good for him. Maybe his sensitivity and innocence will help him get lost in the pleasure enough to forget why it’s happening, where it’s happening.

And who is doing it to him.

Migs doesn’t know him, not really but a few things are obvious. One of them being he’s pretty damn sure Din deserves better for his first time. Someone who matters, someone special. 

Someone who isn’t Migs.

Someone who didn’t double-cross him. Someone who for all intents and purposes wasn’t about to rape him—that the alternative was worse doesn’t fucking matter. Facts are facts and what Migs is about to do? It ain’t right.

**Sorry.**

He taps with his thumb against Din’s lip. It isn’t enough, not even close. But it’s all he’s got.

“So sensitive, and responsive,” Migs says, his voice dripping with an intent he doesn’t feel. “We’re going to have so much fun together. Can’t wait to find out what other sounds this pretty mouth of yours can make.”

He steps back away from Din, giving him a chance to get some air while he still can. Before they have to begin in earnest. He turns around and gives the room at large an appraising look. 

The head interrogator looks just as attentive and alert as always, a professional despite his. . . _tastes_ in torture. Two of the troopers are leaning forward with obvious interest from where they sit on the sides, no strangers to this sort of thing. One of the others seems disinterested, and one is outright standing by the door looking bored.

“There’s not like a time limit right?” Migs asks faux casually with a shrug. “Cause I really would like to take my time with him—especially since it's his first time right? Gotta make it _special_. Something worth remembering.” He lets out a cruel laugh and the two interested troopers chuckle along with him.

“Well, seein’ as Admiral’s orders were for you to have your fun first I don’t see why we can’t let you indulge,” he strokes his hand through his facial hair. “Sides, it _would_ be a shame to rush this. Ain’t ever seen one of them get fucked before, you’ll give a good show though won’t ya?”

“He’ll be begging for it by the time I’m done with him,” Migs says with all the confidence he’s not feeling. Not that he isn’t good at it, far from it. He gets nothing but high praise from anyone he beds. 

If this were any other situation he _knows_ he could get Din to the point of begging and beyond. With a body like that, and those expressive eyes? Migs would take out all the stops to see just how far he could push until Din was on the edge of breaking and then he’d push him even further.

Until there was nothing but pleasure reflecting in those eyes. Until he couldn’t see anything beyond Migs and the pleasure being wrung out of his body. The thought stops Migs in his tracks. 

What’s stopping him from trying for that anyway? 

At worst Din will get some mind-blowing orgasms out of it, and at best it might distract him long enough to forget the why’s around it. The situation and their surroundings. Maybe he can drag it out long enough for the cavalry to arrive.

Along with his 50-year sentence, he also got chipped. Standard for all high flight risk prisoners. Got a tracker implanted at the base of his skull and every marshal on the Rim has the frequency—including the one who sprung him. 

The plan had been an in and out thing, but they were given an hour in case something went sideways—like it always does—before they’d assume the worst. It’s already been 30 minutes give or take since they made it into the base. Now, he’s got no clue _how_ they’ll manage to break in to get them.

But there is no way they would leave Din here to rot. He’s not the kind of guy you leave behind—and his crew? Migs doesn’t know how each of them fell in with Din, but he can tell they are all fly or dies for each other. 

There’s just something about Din that seems to attract that kind of feeling in people. Or in Migs’s case inspire it out of nowhere. It’s probably a sign that the galaxy is full of people with serious daddy issues that they all take one good look at Din and his kid and decide to help the guy. 

Migs’s father hadn’t even given enough of a shit to stick around and here is this guy ready to go up against Moff Gideon of all people—fight the whole damn galaxy if he has to—all for his kid. 

An adopted one at that. 

How could Migs turn his back on that, especially now that he knows how scared Din is—has probably been this whole time?

So yeah, he doesn’t know how or when they’ll come for Din, but he knows they will. If an asshole like him is willing to risk his neck for the guy, he hates to think about the poor sons of bitches in between the shock trooper and Din. 

He just has to stall and drag this out long enough for them to arrive. He can do that, is rather fond of taking his time, to be honest. He turns back around to face Din seeing worry and fear already taking back over those expressive eyes of his. 

“What do you say Mando,” Migs starts off conversationally as if this is no big deal to him. “Want me to take my time with you? Show you all the things you’ve been missing out on?” He says in his bedroom voice licking at his lips. Both for show and a distraction. “I’m _really_ good at what I do.”

Din’s eyes that had flicked down to look at his lips rise up to meet his eyes. It’s a complicated look, so many things going on inside that head of his that for once it’s hard to read him. 

Din takes a deep, shuddery breath in and holds it for a moment. Struggling to gain some sense of calm, his eyes going focused and intense. He lets the breath out far steadier than he had taken it in.

“Yes,” one word, spoken strongly, his voice doesn’t shake. Not breaking eye contact, every bit the image of a strong warrior Migs had always thought was lurking behind the helmet. It is as if, in just this one moment, Din has found himself again. Is able to drag up the last bit of strength, of courage inside him.

He’s not just saying yes to Migs’s flippant mockery of a proposal. He’s consenting to Migs. 

It knocks the air from Migs’s lungs when he realizes this. Even now he’s trying to be the good guy. He doesn’t even know what he’s in for, what Migs is going to take from him, and still he offers Migs the one thing he couldn’t ask for.

Permission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will check for any extra typos that escaped my notice later when I wake up, but if you see one? More than welcome to let me know. 2nd chapter is like 2.5 longer than this one...might have it up as early as tomorrow. We'll see.


	2. The Sin

It takes everything he has in him to not break character. To not give away how much that one word affects him. Even still he has to press his eyes closed and take a deep breath to keep himself steady.

The sound of laughter erupts from behind him, breaking the moment. He can’t afford to lose his head.

“Damn, now ain’t he a special one?” The head interrogator laughs. The sound of his meaty hand slapping against his armored knee is too loud in the small room. “Already asking for it—Can you believe it? Sure do hope Gideon lets us keep him. Be nice to have a piece of ass ‘round the place again.”

Revulsion crawls along his spine at the words, the tone, and the horrible thought of that happening to Din. His eyes are hard when he meets Din’s, he risks the barest shake of his head. He won’t let that happen.

He’d shoot Din and then himself before he let that happen. 

In, and out. Just breathe, he tells himself. Pushing his ever-simmering rage down until he’s once again got a handle on it. Comforting himself with the promise of making sure that one will be the first to be lying dead on the ground when he gets the opportunity. 

“I better make sure to train him how to do it right first then shouldn’t I?” He hates himself just for saying the words—let alone that he’s going to follow through with them. But he doesn’t have a fucking choice. It’s either this or die—because he sure as hell ain’t about to let any of these sick bastards get their hands on him.

“I don’t know who the hell you are, or where they got you from,” one of the troopers who has been showing interest in the _entertainment_ announces. “But I like your style. Hope you can walk the walk as well as you talk it,” he adjusts himself under the armor. “Cause you got me in the mood for a good show.”

The other interested trooper makes a sound of amusement and the head interrogator nods in agreement. The one by the door looks bored and like he wants to leave, the other one doesn’t seem too keen on it either. 

A fact that doesn’t pass by their commanding officer’s attention.

“You’re excused Ginny, I know you’re only interested in having your fun after we’ve had ours,” he gives Migs a look gesturing at the one by the door. “He’s not like the rest of us. Likes them after they’re all messed up. Real sick bastard that one.”

The room fills with the troopers' laughter. Migs’s face feels like it’s made of glass and going to shatter at any moment with the strain of keeping his revulsion from showing but he somehow manages. Even joins in.

“Call me when it’s my turn,” the other disinterested trooper says once the laughter dies down. “I ain’t into watching like the rest of you.” He offers his commander a salute and joins the other trooper at the door. Their commander waves them off with a hand as they leave.

Good, just three of them now. Worst to worst, if he has to Migs is pretty sure he can take them if he picks his timing right. 

“Best get comfortable,” he tells those who remain, eyes once again focusing on Din and Din alone. “Cause I plan to take my time _savoring_ this.” 

He lets his gaze wander down across Din’s body, stepping up into his space once more. He trails his fingers feather-light across Din’s skin tracing the path his eyes take. His eyes flick up to watch Din’s face as he brushes a nipple. Watches as Din’s eyes go wide and his lips part as he draws in a surprised breath. 

“So sensitive here,” he says as he leans in grabbing the back of Din’s neck with his other hand. He runs his mouth along Din’s cheek enjoying the feeling of his lips catching on stubble. “How about here? Where else can just a touch have you breathing heavy?”

Migs dips his head pressing his lips against Din’s throat earning another sharp intake of breath. He can feel Din’s pulse thundering under his mouth. The majority of it is probably due to fear but Migs knows how to get someone’s blood pumping for all the right reasons. 

He drags his lips across Din’s skin until he’s right over his pulse. He pauses for a moment just breathing against Din’s neck to build up the tension before he seals his mouth against Din’s skin. He works his lips as he sucks, just a gentle pressure, nothing fancy to start with but Din’s reaction? More than even he was expecting. 

An honest to God whine tears out of Din like it was ripped out of him by force—because it was. Just as quickly as it comes on it dies off. Cut off in embarrassment and shame if his stricken expression is anything to go by.

“Aww don’t be embarrassed,” Migs coos at him in a mockery of care. “We love the sounds you make, ain’t that right boys?” A chorus of agreement. With his hand Migs squeezes against Din’s neck and taps with his pinky.

**Relax it's okay.**

Migs can feel Din’s muscles relaxing under his hand almost immediately. It makes something curl in his stomach that he’s not proud of with how quickly Din obeys. Now is not the fucking time for _that_ particular kink of his to come up out of all of them. 

There could not be a worse time—he stops—or was it actually the best time? This is the first he has had _any_ interest since this whole shitshow got started. Out of everyone in the room he’s the dead last person who should be having any sort of performance issues. 

It’s not that Din isn’t good-looking—cause damn he is—it’s the inescapable fact that he’s unwilling. He doesn't want this and he sure as fuck would never want it from Migs. Yeah, okay, he said yes but only because neither of them really have a choice here. If it were any other circumstance Din wouldn’t even show him with his face let alone his body. 

So no, his cock hasn’t been interested. 

He’s not too keen on the audience either, but it’s not a deal breaker for him. It’s more the act that he has to keep up. 

If he knew it was Din’s thing to get humiliated and talked to like this he would go along with it just fine. He’s got a filthy mouth and he knows how to use it—but he can tell Din doesn’t like it. He tenses and tries to move away from Migs every time he opens his mouth to say something meant for their audience.

Sex is supposed to be a good time for everyone involved. It shouldn’t be something to endure, to put up with. Fuck, he hates this situation. 

He’ll just have to try harder to make it better.

“If you can be good and not hide those pretty sounds from us I’ll give you a reward,” Migs says, fingers brushing the edges of a nipple. His eyes drop to Din’s lips watching as he bites his bottom lip in an attempt to keep quiet. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy the challenge of _making_ you scream, but I’m trying to be nice since it is your first time and all.”

**Truth.**

He taps against the back of Din’s neck. Migs watches Din’s throat work as he swallows hard before releasing his bottom lip.

**Very good.**

Din breathes a little harder, his eye growing just the slightest bit darker after Migs taps out the praise. 

Oh.

Migs licks his lips. He can work with that he thinks as he leans forward to press his lips against Din’s throat. Teasing at first until he once again moves over his pulse point and _sucks_. Another beautiful soft cry of pleasure, but it doesn’t suddenly cut off this time.

It goes on as Migs sucks and licks at Din’s neck. Rising and falling as Migs works his magic with his mouth, He waits until he feels Din suck in a gasping breath before he bites down with just a hint of pressure with his teeth in the same moment as he rubs his thumb against Din’s nipple.

Oh, the sounds he makes then? Divine. Migs lets go of Din’s neck with a wet sound his thumb still gently rubbing in a circle. He moves to Din’s ear, lips brushing his lobe teasingly.

“So good for me,” he breathes into Din’s ear enjoying the shiver his words bring Din. “I think you’ve earned a reward.” He says before sucking the soft lobe of Din's ear into his mouth giving it a little tug with his teeth before releasing it and moving down. 

He trails kisses along Din’s neck, though he doesn’t linger. He has a goal in mind. He gives the back of Din’s neck one last reassuring squeeze before trailing that hand down to play with Din’s other nipple. Din is panting, actually panting from just this. 

“Oh sweetheart, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Migs says looking up at Din, the only warning before he pulls his thumb away from the nipple it had been toying with and replacing it with his mouth. At first, all he does is seal his lips around it and _breathe_ , he wants Din properly worked up. Wants him crying out and forgetting anyone else is in the room with them.

Din arches back trying to pull his chest away from Migs’s mouth only to arch up into the contact in the next second. A confused, needy sound rumbles in Din’s chest—not quite a whine—but Migs takes pity on him anyway.

This is supposed to be a reward after all.

He flicks his tongue out to get a taste. Migs lightly licks up the salty taste of his sweat until he can taste the man beneath it. It’s subtle. Notes of leather, a hint of oil, and something else that is distinctly _Din_.

He likes it.

He likes the sounds Din makes even more so he begins to suck and lick so he can earn more of them. He looks up to see Din’s head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut. His mouth hangs open as Migs sucks and pulls deep moans out of him. 

Fuck, he sounds good. How long has it been since Migs had someone crying out in pleasure because of him? His pants feel tight as his cock begins to swell just from the sounds Din is making—from the expressions on his face.

Too goddamn long if he’s getting this worked up over it, he thinks shifting his hips in discomfort. Well, on the bright side it looks like his _interest_ and performance won’t be an issue. If it weren’t for the clinking of the restraints on Din’s wrists as he moves Migs could almost forget where they are, why they were doing this as he gets more and more lost in the pleasures of another’s body.

Almost.

Migs can’t afford to tune out the sounds of the troopers around them. He’s hyper aware whenever one of them shifts in their seat or just breathes heavily. Their opportunity could come at any time and Migs needs to be ready.

He had to watch helplessly as Din fought off wave after wave of pirates, now it’s his turn to return the favor. Din has got to be beat to hell after all that. Not to mention how compromised he is without the helmet—and it’s about to get a lot worse.

Migs knows it’ll be up to him when it comes time to make a move. He does well under pressure, sharpshooters have to, but this kind of pressure is something else. Sure, the accuracy of his shots have been the difference between life or death of entire squads once upon a time.

But he didn’t have to look the person whose life was riding on him in the eye. To know just how awful things would get for them if he fucked up.

So he’s not going to mess this up.

One last suck and a graze of teeth and he’s pulling back. Din’s eyes pop open and look down at Migs. The arousal Migs sees in those eyes is unmistakable, a confused desire for something he hadn’t even known he was missing. 

Wanting something _more_ from Migs.

“Would you look at that,” one of the troopers says, breaking the moment. “He’s hard from just that much? It’s like he’s made for it.” 

And just like that, all the hard work Migs had done to get Din forgetting their circumstances is wiped away. Shame rolls over Din at the troopers' words, as if he’s at fault for his body’s reactions. As if Migs isn’t going to be trying his damnedest to turn him on.

Din is going to have to endure this one way or another—but Migs would much rather he enjoy it.

“Don’t be shy princess,” Migs says, trailing his hand down from Din’s nipple and across his abs. “It’s better if you enjoy it. I want to take you apart, have you calling out my name as I make you come. I want you to lose yourself to the pleasure I’m about to show you. 

“I want to torment and tease you until you’re begging,” his hand roams lower until he finds what he’s looking for—all without breaking eye contact with Din. “To be completely at my mercy and _grateful_ for whatever I chose to do to you. You’ll be a good boy for me won’t you?”

His hand closes around Din’s half-hard cock knocking the air out of Din’s lungs with a groan as he gives it a little squeeze. Migs looks down worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, giving Din an experimental stroke. Migs watches as the cock in his hand starts to harden.

Good.

Din’s head falls forward against his own and Migs looks up in surprise. Din’s eyes are pressed closed for a moment but they open and Migs is surprised to see a determined, if not terrified, look in those eyes. As much as he’s able to, he nods against Migs’s forehead. 

“Yes sir.”

Fuck if that isn’t a straight shot right to his cock. He’s playing the game, Migs knows that but his cock sure as hell doesn’t care one bit either way. He lets out a groan of his own before tightening his hand on Din giving a firm tug.

“Shit, you really are made for this aren’t you?” Migs says, moving his free hand to grip the back of Din’s neck in a show of control to their audience—and comforting touch, an anchor for Din to focus on when Migs keeps talking. “All it takes is a little attention and you’re ready and willing to give it all up for an Imperial? 

“For _me_?” Migs lets out a laugh, it isn’t a nice one. “You’re as bad as a Twi’lek. You’re lucky that I get to be the one to break you in, and twice as lucky that you’re so pretty.” Migs moves his thumb over the front of Din’s throat, pressing just enough to be uncomfortable. 

Just enough to be a threat.

“I don’t like to hurt the pretty ones, more fun for me if you’re having a good time. Rather watch you come on my cock than watch you bleed out on the ground,” he lets up with his thumb and moves to stroke his hand down Din’s cheek. “Either way, you know exactly who’s in charge and who owns you.

“Every moan, every sigh of pleasure, and every twitch of your hips will be because of _me_. Because I want it,” Migs drops down on his knees. His breath hot on the half-hard cock in his hand but his eyes don’t leave Din’s. “And when you come it’ll be with _my_ name on your lips.”

Din’s eyes are blown wide, and his mouth is parted as if he means to draw breath but he can’t—waiting to see what Migs will do. His entire focus is on Migs, on his mouth, and on his hands.

He presses his thumb against the base of Din’s cock, rubbing a small circle enjoying the feeling of the cock in his hand growing harder. Completely under his control and at his mercy. 

Just how he likes it.

He just needs to treat this like they’re roleplaying some kinky ass shit. He's no stranger to roleplaying, he can get in the headspace for it. Just forget all the other bullshit and just focus on taking Din apart, piece by piece. Until those brown eyes turn black with desire and he’s trembling for all the right reasons rather than the wrong ones.

Reaching up with his free hand Migs grips the side of Din’s hip kneading the flesh under his fingers for a moment. Another distraction for when he leans in for a taste. Migs feels Din’s entire body lurch forward as his tongue flicks out to taste the head of Din’s cock. 

Din’s cock twitches against his tongue and a bead of fluid leaks out from the tip. A treat that Migs has no intention of letting go to waste as he laps it up. He looks up at Din while he does it wanting to see the expression on his face.

It doesn’t disappoint.

Din’s eyes are squeezed tightly closed and his bottom lip is going white where he’s biting down harder than he should. No doubt overwhelmed by the sensation of Migs’s tongue against a place so intimate, so private that it’s never before been seen—let alone touched by anyone other than himself. It’s commendable that he’s trying to keep a hold of himself, but that is the exact opposite of what Migs wants.

He’ll just have to try harder.

Pulling back, Migs blows out a breath over where he just licked before he leans forward and wraps his lips around the head of Din’s cock. Din lets out a strangled grunt, the air knocked out of him. 

That’s more like it.

He looks up at Din watching his face twist in pleasure as Migs applies just a hint of suction. He enjoys the feeling of muscles flexing beneath his grip on Din's hip as his body reacts to the sensation. Migs wraps his other hand around Din’s shaft and gives him a squeeze at the same time as he sucks this time. Din’s hips jerk forward but Migs is ready for it and holds him still, keeping him from going any deeper than Migs wants him to.

Migs stops moving and waits for Din to come back to his senses. He wants those pretty eyes back on him. Wants him to watch as Migs sucks him down. To see pleasure and desire build up inside Din and know it’s because of _him_. 

The _raw_ look Din gives him when his eyes finally reopen doesn’t disappoint—and neither does Migs. He winks up at Din a second before he swallows him down in one fluid motion. It’s been a while since he’s done it, but it’s just like riding a bike—you never really forget it. 

“Hnng—!” A strangled cry escapes Din as his whole body lurches forward, his restraints clinking as they go taunt. Migs holds his hips steady as he works his mouth over Din’s cock. He pulls back trailing his tonguing the big vein as he goes up until he’s at the head.

He presses his tongue against the sensitive flesh there for a moment or two before pulling all the way off with an obscene popping sound. Din’s chest rises and falls rapidly as he sucks in air for the first time since Migs had wrapped his lips around Din’s cock. 

“I know I’m good, but don’t forget to breathe,” Migs says, his voice a touch husky after deep throating Din without any warm-up. The cock in front of his face twitches and a bead of liquid seeps out. 

Who is he to pass up such an offer, he thinks as he licks it up. Salty, bitter, and _Din_. A good fucking combo. Just as delicious as the first taste—he wants more. He licks Din from base to tip watching as Din’s thighs tremble slightly with anticipation the closer he gets to the head. He doesn’t bother with teasing this time once he gets to the tip, just opens up and slides his mouth over it.

He lets out an appreciative hum when more of that flavor hits his tongue. Din lets out a low moan as Migs continues to hum around his cock knowing from experience just how good that feels to be on the receiving end. 

Trusting Din to not thrust forward again, Migs slides one of his hands across and down Din’s hip enjoying the feeling of goosebumps trailing after his touch. He slides his hand down and forward lightly brushing the base of Din’s cock as he goes—but that isn’t his goal.

Lower he travels until he’s cupping Din’s balls. They’re a heavyweight in his hand—it must have been some time since he last got himself off. 

Good, that should make it easier for Migs to get him off the first time—and it will give him more to work with. Spit as lube is a terrible fucking idea even if you’re experienced and like it rough.

But for someone’s first time? Absolutely fucking not happening.

Seeing as this is an interrogation room Migs seriously doubts they’ll have lube on hand. Sick fucks probably use blood for that. Spit dries too fast, but come? That can work.

Migs will make it work.

But he’s got to get him ready first, he thinks letting Din’s balls go after one last gentle squeeze. He pulls off of Din’s cock once more, just long enough to say one word as he raises his hand up towards Din’s face.

“Suck,” he commands, his tone harsher than he’d like it to be. He presses two fingers against Din’s bottom lip, dragging down slightly as he pulls those lips wider apart. He can feel air rush past his fingers as Din breathes, it's only a moment of hesitation before he’s obeying.

 **Good.**

Migs taps into Din’s hip as he sucks the two fingers into his mouth. A hum of vibration around his fingers as Din reacts to the praise. Migs thanks the universe for _that_ small miracle. Din's eyes that had fallen closed at the praise reopen after a moment to stare down at Migs. 

Though Migs is the one in control he feels pinned by that gaze. It’s intense, really fucking intense. Now Migs is the one who is feeling like there is no one in the room but them.

And then Din _sucks_ , wrapping his tongue around those fingers, giving them the same treatment Migs had given his cock. His hand tightens on Din’s hip and he can feel his own cock making a mess of his underwear.

“Fuck,” he half moans the words out, caught completely by surprise for once. Din just sucks at his fingers harder. A small look of satisfaction in his eyes, cocky bastard.

Migs likes him all the more for it. Maybe they can get through this in one piece. Maybe this won’t break him—maybe _Migs_ won’t break him.

“Be sure to get them nice and wet, you'll be grateful you did later,” Migs tells him. A knowing snicker from behind Migs has Din’s eyes flicking up to look at the source of the sound. The almost challenging look falling right off his face. He goes a little pale and his mouth grows slack around Migs’s fingers.

**Eyes on me.**

Brown eyes flick down to him, panic creeping back in the edges. His breaths just a little too quick but the longer Migs holds his attention the more he calms. 

Hell, if this ain’t a fucked up situation. They don’t even know each other—not really. But here they are stuck depending on each other. He needs Din to stay calm.

If he panics—if he fights Migs—

Just the thought of Din looking at him with real fear is enough to kill his erection. There is no way Migs would be able to follow through and then _his_ cover would be blown. He’d have to shoot everyone in the room and pray that, against all logic and protocol, there wouldn't be guards posted outside the room.

Realistically they’d both be dead in a matter of minutes. Probably a better fate than if either of them were left alive with both their covers blown—but Migs would like to try and avoid that if at all possible. 

So he’s got to keep this balancing act with Din. A guy who he’s betrayed in the past and had considered abandoning when shit hit the fan. 

And Din? A Mando whose people are famous for being secretive and distrustful has to rely on a known criminal. To trust that Migs isn’t doing this to get his sick kicks, or as payback. 

Has to trust him with his body when he wouldn’t trust his _face_ with anyone in the galaxy. Not even his own people if the stories are true. This whole thing is straight fucked but the alternative is worse, so much worse.

Migs isn’t a nice guy, never has been. He’s never been the type to look out for anyone besides himself, at least he hasn’t in a long damn time but this isn’t something he could just turn a blind eye to. 

Migs slides his fingers out of Din’s mouth, they’re shiny with saliva. 

“Good boy,” he says, his tone a mockery of the praise but his meaning is sincere. “Now we can get to the _really_ fun parts.”

His eyes flick back down to look at the cock that has gone half soft with neglect and embarrassment. An easy fix. He opens wide and sucks Din in, all the way down. Easier now with him only half-hard—not that he will stay that way for long, Migs thinks with a hum.

Call him crazy, but there is just something hot about feeling a cock spring to life in his mouth. Having it slowly swell up and become a heavy weight on his tongue—there’s just something about it just really gets his blood pumping. He's already halfway hard again himself. He works the cock in his mouth like a pro, pulling out all the stops to distract Din from what is coming next.

He reaches back with his hand and slides his middle finger along Din’s skin tracing around his balls and going further. Din’s cock twitches with interest as Migs slides his finger between Din’s cheeks but his whole body goes tense when Migs finds what he’s looking for as he brushes against Din’s rim.

**Relax.**

This time Din is slow to obey, not that Migs can blame him one bit. Easier said than done when someone you don’t have a good reason to trust is touching an area as intimate as this. He rubs his finger around Din’s rim a few times in an attempt to tease him into relaxing but he’s still clenched tight.

**Won't hurt you.**

That one and the combo of Migs alternating between sucking and licking his cock seems to do the trick. The cock in his mouth is nearly back to full hardness and Din starts letting out soft sounds again as he gets used to the teasing sensation. 

Migs presses lightly against Din’s hole, he tenses up for a second before he relaxes against the intrusion, letting the tip of a finger inside. Migs is mindful to keep working Din’s cock as a counterpoint of pleasure to the discomfort of his invading finger.

Slowly, bit by bit he works his finger in as far as it will go. He holds it there for a second before he’s pulling it back out. He stops just before it’s all the way out before he’s pushing it in again. 

Slowly thrusting it in and out getting Din’s body used to the motion. The first few times he does this has Din trying to move his hips away on instinct before forcing himself to stop. Din’s lips, which were screwed tightly shut, slowly part as he gets used to it. 

Migs hums approvingly every time Din relaxes and soon enough he’s letting out tiny sounds of pleasure again. His body tightening around the finger inside him every time Migs pulls back.

He slides the finger in and out a couple more times before he’s pulling it completely out. A small sound of protest from Din.

Sounds like he’s ready for another.

He pushes in with two fingers and this time Din only tenses for a moment before relaxing against the gentle stretch. Migs works his fingers in and out slowly at first then picking up speed until he’s fucking Din with them. He has to pull back so that only the head of Din’s cock is in his mouth so he can swallow with how much precome Din is leaking.

Looking up he watches Din’s chest heave as he breathes, sweat just starting to prickle on tan skin. His eyes, once again dark, look into his own. A desire that echoes his own burning in Din's eyes. 

He hasn’t even got to the _good_ part yet, Migs thinks looking up at Din before he once again swallows him whole. Not stopping until his lips are touching the skin of Din’s pelvis.

A long low groan and the clinking of him pulling his arms against the restraints—but he doesn’t try to thrust forward—not that he could go any deeper than this, but Migs appreciates his self-control.

A control he plans to make Din lose.

He pulls back and starts bobbing his head, not going so far as to deep throat again, but enough so his mouth stays pleasantly full. He moves his free hand around to grip at the base of Din’s cock, but he doesn’t stroke—just squeezes it tight while his fingers go looking for that special spot.

He curls his fingers searching out for the smooth bump inside that is going to blow Din’s mind. He doesn’t have to search long before he finds it. He lightly brushes against it at first, with barely any extra pressure.

Din’s cock twitches inside his mouth earning a hum of approval from Migs. He starts circling around the bump of Din’s prostate getting him all nice and worked up. Din’s thighs start to tremble once Migs starts stroking the base of his cock while working the head _and_ stroking that special spot inside him.

What can he say? He’s good at multitasking and loves a challenge. 

Din begins to moan in earnest—lost to the pleasure Migs is pulling out of his body. His hips move erratically as he tries to both thrust forward and push back against the fingers inside him. He’s not going to last much longer, nor does Migs want him to. 

He rapidly taps lightly against the bump inside Din simulating vibration just as he sucks Din in deeper one last time. Din lets out a cry, his head thrown back, and his body tensing up all over. 

A shot of bitter fluid hits his tongue when he takes Din over the edge and beyond as he presses against that special spot inside Din with just the right amount of pressure right as Din's orgasm begins. Din clenches tightly around his fingers making an unintelligible, almost animalistic sound as Migs drives his orgasm to heights he’s never before known. 

He milks the last of it out of Din with his hand until the sounds of pleasure just start to edge into pain.

He pulls off with a lewd _pop_ making sure he doesn’t lose a single drop. He spits it into his hand, must have been a while for him—it’s quite the load. Methodically he applies it deep inside Din. It’s fucking far from ideal and more than a little gross, but there is no way in hell he’s going in with just spit.

Din makes a sound of protest, oversensitized now that he’s gotten off but it’s over soon enough. His knees creak and pop when he gets up, a little old to be pulling this shit in full fucking armor. The sound of clapping brings Din partially out of his post orgasm haze, his eyes half-focusing behind Migs for a moment in confusion.

“Shit boys, and here I thought we were only going to have one star of this show!” The head interrogator laughs and Migs joins in.

“Ain’t my first time on my knees in the armor if you know what I mean. Gotta keep busy during boring watch shifts somehow am I right?” Migs says with a knowing smile. He reaches out a hand and brushes his fingers against Din’s lips—they open without hesitation, eyes lazy with sated lust.

Fuck if it ain’t one of the hottest things he’s seen in a while. As much of an asshole he is, one place he isn’t an asshole in the bedroom—unless they’re into it of course. It’s not so much that he’s a good person, pretty fucking far from it, but seeing someone blissed out like this? Knowing that it was because of him? 

Something about it just really does it for him. The sounds his lovers make, the way their bodies respond to his touch, and the way they look at him afterward—if not in awe, but at least deep satisfaction? The feeling it gives him?

It’s addictive. 

In this moment he wants nothing more than to enjoy and share in the bliss Din is feeling, but he can’t. He can only get away with so much. Lots of people enjoy getting someone off, but to go any further than that? With someone he’s supposed to hate?

Not a fucking chance in hell.

Reluctantly, he pushes down his desire to let Din enjoy the brief moment of respite neither of them can afford. He takes a step back and moves to look at the cross Din is strapped to. It is far from standard, almost looks like—is it a fucking legit piece of bondage furniture? 

It fucking is. Modified heavily for uses beyond its design but still. 

It makes his stomach twist with the thought of _why_ they would have sprung for one of these here. Just how often do they do this to the hapless nearby natives to warrant the expense?

No fucking wonder the pirates—if they even were pirates—went to such lengths to try and kill them. Sacrificing their own lives just for a chance to get back at the sick fucks who have been violating their people.

Migs doesn’t care what it takes, what he has to do but he’s blowing this shithole off the map if it is the last thing he does. 

He clenches his jaw swallowing down his anger, forcing his hands to reach for the levers that will adjust the anchors attached to Din’s restraints so that they can be moved down. 

“I sure hope you were paying attention, cause it’s about to be my turn,” he says as he adjusts the hold points on the restraints holding Din’s legs, twisting and lowering them as he moves and bends the lower half of the cross so that Din is forced to his knees. 

Din doesn’t resist, doesn’t make a sound of protest. Migs doesn’t dare look up from what he’s doing to see if it is because Din is still coming down from his orgasm, if he’s just being good or if it’s something else entirely. Migs doesn’t want to see his face twisted with fear so he doesn’t look.

He never claimed to be brave.

Eyes on his task he adjusts the equipment until he has Din right where he needs him. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the worst when he moves back from behind the equipment to face Din. 

His head is bowed so Migs can’t see his eyes but his shoulders are slumped. He is the very picture of a defeated man. His cock lays soft against his thigh spent and uninterested. 

Migs looks over at their audience, they are all _very_ interested in the sight before them. Din is objectively beautiful like this. If his shoulders were slumped not with defeat but with submission—freely given? Migs would be right there with them in enjoying the sight.

It’s not—but for both their sakes? He’s going to have to pretend that is what this is.

He steps up in front of Din, a beat passes but he doesn’t look up. Migs reaches out and grabs the side of Din’s head. His fingers grabbing at brown curls though he hardly pulls, just makes a show of it, as he ‘forces’ Din to look up.

Fear is in his eyes, but it isn’t alone. Something else is floating in those eyes—determination. 

Relief hits Migs like a punch to the gut to see strength still in Din. Migs risks a gentle caress with his thumb along Din’s cheek watching as determination melts into something softer. Something that shouldn’t be able to exist in this room, something that hurts to look at knowing full well what he has to do.

**So brave.**

He taps out but he can’t afford to let Din react to it so as soon as his fingers finish tapping he’s pressing his thumb against Din’s lips. 

And reaching for his belt with his other hand.

“Such a pretty mouth on you. These lips are just made for sucking cock aren't they?” Migs taunts as he works open the fastenings on his pants. “Can’t wait to have those pretty little lips of yours wrapped around my cock.

“You might even like it once you get a taste,” he rubs his thumb along the seam of Din’s lips. Another look of determination as they tighten briefly before he opens up. Migs traces the entrance to his mouth, only dipping the tip of his thumb in at first, but Din sucks it in deeper all on his own. “Oh yeah, you’ll definitely be good at this,”

He pulls his now fully interested cock out of his pants. Din’s eyes widen as he looks, uncertainty creeping in. Migs isn’t huge or anything, he’s pretty average downstairs, but to someone who has never done it? Any size would be intimidating. 

“Don’t be scared, I did promise I would be gentle with you after all,” he says, the tone not matching his words at all. He comes off mocking and cruel. Pulling his thumb out of Din’s mouth he slides his hand around to grip the back of Din’s head, twisting it up so Din has to look into his eyes.

“Now I could just fuck your face, gently at first of course, just like everyone here is expecting. Or. . .” Migs loosens his grip on Din’s hair, brushing it back behind an ear in a soothing motion. “Or you could show us that you were paying attention to my little _lesson_ earlier. 

“Maybe if you give them a good enough show of what that mouth of yours can do they’ll be nicer when it’s their turns,” Migs glances back at the three behind him offering them a wink. He did promise them a show after all. “So what do you say Mando? Want to be my good little plaything or am I going to have to do everything myself?”

Din eyes the cock in front of his face for a moment. Almost exactly like he’s sizing up an opponent. Strangely enough? It’s comforting to see that expression on his face, it sure as hell beats the alternative.

“Come on, just give it a little kiss,” Migs teases, pushing his cock forward with his hand so that it’s aimed directly at Din’s mouth. “Don’t be shy now.” Mean laughter can be heard from their audience. 

A flash of anger in his eyes is all the warning Migs gets before Din is leaning forward and doing just that. He presses his lips against the head of Migs’s cock giving it a tiny peck before leaning back and looking up at Migs, playful defiance in his eyes. As if daring Migs to call him on his _performance_.

To say Migs is surprised by this would be an understatement. He barks out a sound of surprised laughter—this fucking guy right here. So full of surprises. 

So much stronger than he has any right to be given the situation.

“Real fucking cute,” Migs says, and he actually means it. “You can do better than that.”

“Yes sir,” his tone is defiant and positively _dripping_ with disrespect. 

Migs is really starting to like this guy. If this were any other situation he’d take that as the challenge it is—he cuts himself off from finishing the thought. 

Din leans forward again, eyes flicking rapidly between the cock in front of him and up at Migs. He takes a deep breath and stinks out his tongue lightly licking the head of Migs’s cock. A bead of precome leaks out at both the sensation of a wet tongue against him and the sight Din makes on his knees before him. 

Din laps it up. 

He leans back and makes a face as the taste hits his tongue—it really is an acquired thing—makes a tiny shrug of his shoulders and leans forward again. This time he tries licking from the base of the cock all the way to the head like Migs had done to him. 

“Fuck,” Migs lets out a groan, it’s been far too long since he’s had _any_ action outside of his own hand. Din takes that for the encouragement that it is and does it again earning another groan from Migs—but this time when he reaches the tip he doesn’t stop and opens his mouth just wide enough for the head to slip past his lips and into his mouth.

His fingers tighten in Din’s hair for a split second until he forces his hand to relax. Brown eyes look up at him as he lets out another low groan. He’s watching Migs’s reactions closely. Curiously even. A timid swipe of his tongue against Migs and then another when he sees the effect it has. 

“That’s right, just like that,” Migs encourages Din, running his fingers through sweaty curls. His touch soothing, far from demanding. He thinks he can get away with this much, it should just come off as a game he’s playing for show.

Din’s eyes flutter shut as Migs runs his fingers through his hair, his mouth going a little slack allowing Migs in just a tiny bit deeper. He takes his other hand and places it on the other side of Din’s head and makes a show of holding his head when in reality he does it so he can play with Din’s hair even more.

An appreciative sound from Din has Migs curling forward and letting out a moan of his own as the head of his cock gets surrounded by the vibrations inside Din’s mouth. Din makes another sound and Migs can’t stop his dick from twitching. 

Din pulls back in surprise and Migs lets him go. His hands are not there to control Din, just as an anchor. A counterpoint of gentle touches to go against whatever horrible shit he’s going to have to say—and whatever horrible shit their audience will say. It isn’t much, but it’s the best Migs can offer.

“Giving up so soon?” Migs taunts. “You can do better than that can’t you? Big bad Mando scared of a cock—guess you’re not as brave as the stories say.” 

“Yeah Mando,” one of the two underlings calls out. “You best make it good if you want any hope of us being _gentle_. We’re not so nice ‘n understanding as your boy over here.”

“Ain’t making any promises for the other two,” the head interrogator begins. “They like it rough, prefer when the screams are in pain—but if you can impress us? We might consider taking it easy on ya. 

“Be a shame to break a new toy so early after all,” the three of them laugh. Migs joins in a second later though he has to grip the base of his cock or risk losing his erection with how disgusted he is by the three of them. 

**Don’t listen.**

He taps with his other hand. Migs won’t let it happen, won’t let it get that far—Din needs to know that. He gives his cock a few strokes to keep it hard, playing it off like the talk is turning him on rather than so far off he’s considering never having sex again.

Alright, that part is a lie. But still? Disgusting, sick fucks the whole lot of them. 

“Okay,” Din says, his voice barely audible. He clears his throat, takes a deep breath, and says it again louder this time—for their audience. “Okay,” almost before the words are finished coming out of his mouth he’s wrapping his lips around Migs once more.

This time he doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t stop when he tastes Migs on his tongue. He keeps going, trying to swallow Migs down in one move. It’s not a move a beginner should be trying. Migs wants to stop him, to warn him but it would be a better show if he doesn’t.

So he lets Din go down, down, down until he chokes himself on Migs’s cock. An involuntary groan when he feels Din’s throat spasm around him. Din, fucking determined asshole that he is, tries to fight against his gag reflex but he’s got no idea what he’s doing and is destined to fail.

This time Migs does take pity on him pulling out of Din’s mouth before he ends up making a mess and having an even worse time. Din coughs as he sucks in big breaths of air. Migs holds the side of his face and claps him on the back lightly with his other hand as Din spits excess saliva on the ground.

“What a fucking champ! Trying to deep throat on your first try?” Migs says, honestly impressed and letting it show in his voice. “Color me impressed at the attempt, but I’d rather you didn’t end up puking up your guts all over my nice, clean boots.”

It takes a bit for Din to stop gagging and get a hold of himself, but he manages it. 

“Sorry,” his voice is raw, and his words are surprisingly sincere—Din can’t lie for shit. Can barely even control his facial expressions so Migs knows he means it. 

What the fuck does he have to be sorry for? For _Migs_ letting him choke himself on a cock he doesn’t even want to suck? Hell, his head must be messed up right now if he honestly thinks he owes Migs any sort of apology. Migs is the one who should be—and is—sorry, but he can’t say it. 

Can’t even acknowledge how wrong it is that Din is the one apologizing. 

Din doesn’t give him time to dwell on it before he’s going right at it again. He goes slower and only gets about halfway before he stops once he hits his gag reflex again. Din stays there for a moment letting himself adjust. Brown eyes flick up to meet his own, a questioning, insecure look.

He doesn’t—he couldn't—

He’s not actually worried about disappointing _Migs_ is he? Hell, this game they’re having to play is fucked up. Saying one thing and doing another.

He’ll just have to show Din how much his performance is not an issue. He brushes a thumb along Din’s cheek enjoying the scratch of stubble against his thumb. He tries to tune out the rest of the room, if just for a moment so he can have all his attention and focus on Din.

“Much better, just like that,” he praises Din. “Knew your mouth would feel good, but I didn’t expect it to be this nice, fuck.” 

The effect is immediate, Din’s pupils dilate, and the unsure look fades from his eyes. So the praise thing works even with dirty talk, good to know. Migs can dirty talk with the best of them—it’s him not being able to shut up that’s always getting him in trouble.

He’s not even sure all the shit that comes out of his mouth as he encourages Din to get bolder and bolder. With each passing minute, Din’s discomfort lessens. As the encouraging words and sounds work their magic and Din gets into it.

And he means _into it_. 

“Shit would you look at that!” One of the troopers says. “Looks like he likes the taste of cock. Already gettin’ hard again so soon.” The head interrogator lets out a whistle.

“Sure got us a special one don’t we? Maybe the new guy's right and we should be a lil more careful with this one,” the head interrogator says, voice thick with arousal. “Make him last.”

Din stops the slow bob of his head and his eyes flying open to look up at Migs. Migs expects to see fear, but his eyes are blown wide—and sure enough, Migs can see Din’s cock standing up once more between his legs. 

A shiny bead of precome leaking from the tip.

“God, you’re perfect,” Migs gets out with a groan, his cock twitching inside Din’s mouth. “You really _do_ like the taste of my cock in your mouth don’t you?” 

Din lets out a hum of agreement as he starts bobbing his head once more. All without breaking eye contact. 

“Fuck,” Migs has to take one of his hands off of Din’s head to squeeze the base of his cock. “Almost made me lose it—and while I would love to watch you suck it all down like the greedy little Mando you are, I want to make all of you _mine_.”

He pulls back and out of Din’s mouth, needing a break for a few seconds while he gets a hold of himself. He can’t afford to go off so soon. He could get hard again—looking down at Din panting his mouth open wide and his lips swollen—yeah that wouldn't be an issue at all but any downtime is too much to risk one of the others having "a quick go at that mouth” while Migs recovers.

No one is going to touch Din but him. The vehemence in which he thinks it scares him a little. 

He’s let all this pretending get to his head if he’s thinking that way even to himself. Hell, he _actually_ meant the last thing he said to Din. The line between this being forced and something he wants?

It’s beginning to blur.

A horrible thought, but it’s effective at cooling him down from the edge. Is he just as bad as the rest of them? He can’t deny how he has been getting his kicks off from this. 

Fuck. 

He needs to stop thinking about it. He’s spiraling and neither of them can afford this right now. There will be all the time in the world to think about how horrible of a person he is _after_. 

They have to survive this first.

Din sits back on his knees, working his jaw. It’s probably tired and getting sore already from being stretched open so wide—something he can’t possibly be used to doing. An internal debate with himself as Migs considers the pros and cons continuing like they are or moving onto the final act.

His mouth might need a break, and Migs would hate to push him past his comfort level with this—but he wants to put off taking any more away from Din than he has to. Besides, at least _this_ is something Din likes. 

Not everyone enjoys getting fucked after all. Din might just be forced to tolerate it even with Migs pulling out all the stops to make it good for him. At least with this Din is getting _something_ out of it. 

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding Migs comes to a decision. He rubs the side of Din’s jaw with his hand pressing against the strained muscles. 

“You look like you need a break from doing all the work,” Migs gives himself a quick stroke with his other hand. “How about I take over for a minute? Give that pretty little mouth of yours a rest? Don’t worry, I’ll still be gentle.”

Din swallows, looking down at the cock in front of his face. His own cock twitching against his stomach. Biting his lip he looks back up and gives a small nod. 

“Okay,” he agrees, like he has an honest choice in any of this, rather than the illusion of one. 

“Just what I wanted to hear, now all you have to do? Is relax your jaw and let me do all the work,” Migs tells him as he moves his hand to Din’s mouth and slides his thumb inside. Din’s lips move to tighten around his thumb but Migs stops him with a shake of his head.

“What did I just say? Relax. Yeah, just like that,” Migs watches the effect his words have on Din. God if he isn’t a sight be behold with his cock straining and leaking just from a few words. “So obedient and good for me. You just want to please me don’t you?”

He means it as a throwaway statement, not meant to be acknowledged let alone replied to. This is of course why he should have expected Din to treat it as an honest question. He doesn’t even really know him, but one thing he should know by now is to expect the unexpected with him. 

Din makes a sound of affirmation around the thumb in his mouth. Migs pulls it out, a trail of spit stretching out connecting them. It’s such a lewd sight that it has his cock twitching and a little droplet of precome leaking out. 

Din’s eyes catch on the movement. He sucks in his bottom lip as he takes in a deep breath through his nose, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he releases the breath. A small, barely there, nod of his head.

Holy shit.

It seems Migs isn’t the only one having trouble confusing the fantasy of what they are doing versus the cruel reality of it. That was his goal all along but Migs didn’t think it would work. It eases _some_ of the guilt he felt earlier to see Din genuinely interested in this.

In him.

Migs has to close his eyes against the surprising burst of emotion that comes with that realization. He knows—100% knows this doesn't mean anything—can’t mean anything. This is a textbook example of traumatic bonding—what he’s starting to feel? What Din might be feeling? 

It can’t mean anything. It’s not real. 

So why does it feel so _right_?

Biting his own bottom lip, Migs reopens his eyes to find Din already looking up at him. It’s intense having those eyes on him, he feels torn open under Din’s gaze. Vulnerable and seen. His feelings—real or not—out on display.

His next inhale shudders unevenly, but the next is smoother. Their audience be damned, Migs risks a tender touch. Brushing sweat-soaked bangs away from Din’s forehead, a hint of a smile on his face.

His smile is half sad and half so very grateful for how brave and good Din has been through all of this. He doesn’t deserve the kindness nor the forgiveness that he just knows Din, the selfless asshole that he is, will give him once this is all said and done—but in the moment? 

He’ll take it.

Not trusting his voice to shake and betray feelings he shouldn’t be feeling he just moves his hand to the back of Din’s neck. He gives a gentle squeeze before he pulls Din closer. Din opens up without having to be prompted, letting Migs slip the tip of his cock inside Din’s warm mouth once more.

He stops there, not going any further for a moment. It feels. . .better almost. It shouldn’t, and yet somehow it does. Din’s lips tighten around him, an instinct to suck. Migs takes his hand off his cock and taps a finger against the lips around his cock as a reminder to relax. 

The moment his finger makes contact with those lips Din moans loudly, a sinfully indecent sound. Never seen an oral fixation as bad as Din has it. 

Now that is something he can work with.

He traces his finger along where his cock meets Din’s mouth and those lips loosen up all on their own. Migs pushes his hips forward slightly slowly inching his cock in deeper until he’s about where Din will start to choke. He stays there for a moment, both to let Din adjust and because he just plain wants to.

It feels fucking amazing to have the wet heat of Din’s mouth around him. He stretches the moment as long as he thinks he can get away with it before he starts to move. He pulls back, but only an inch before he’s sliding forward. A tiny thrust, just enough movement to get Din used to the feeling.

He tenses up slightly when Migs slides back in, but Migs has more than enough self-control to not go any further than Din can take. After a few thrusts, Din stops tensing and even lets out an appreciative hum.

Migs pulls nearly all the way out this time before he slides back in. He alternates his thrusts based on the sounds Din makes and the way his hips thrust against nothing. A little faster, a little harder until they are both moaning.

He’s careful to not go too deep as he starts to fuck Din’s mouth in earnest. He’s got both hands on Din's head as he moves Din's head in a counterpoint to his thrusts. 

They both _really_ like that. The room fills with the sounds of their moans, the wet sounds as he pumps in and out of Din’s mouth, and the slapping sounds of Din’s hard cock hitting his stomach as he thrusts his hips helplessly.

Sweat starts beading on his forehead and he feels weighed down and gross trapped in the armor he doesn't dare risk taking off. It’s sweltering, but when the cavalry comes he knows he’ll be grateful he kept it on.

His decision to keep the armor on pays off not two minutes later when the muffled sound of an explosion vibrates the roof and floor. Migs doesn’t hesitate, reaching for the blaster on his hip and the one strapped to his thigh pulling them out and firing before the sound has even stopped echoing. A slight shift of his stance, another squeeze of a trigger, and the third one falls to the floor.

Such a huge feeling of relief hits him that it has his control shattering. They’re dead, they can’t hurt Din, can’t take anything more away from him. And neither will Migs be forced to do it. 

It’s like a punch to his gut and without any warning, his balls are tightening up and he’s coming harder than he has in _years_. He scrunches his eyes closed and grunts at the force of his orgasm—but the relief is short-lived once he realizes what he’s done.

He drops his blasters to the ground, his hands going for Din’s face to try and move him off, but it’s way too fucking late for that. 

“Shit Din, I’m sorry!” He calls out but it is almost as if Din can’t hear. As if he’s dazed by what just happened. Din groans around him, deep and long urging another shot of come Migs is helpless to stop. He watches Din’s throat work as he swallows before Migs can tell him to spit.

“Fuck.”

He pulls out and drops down to his knees so he’s on the same level as Din, his hands never leaving Din’s face. Din’s eyes are closed and Migs is scared he’s fucked up everything right at the end, but then he realizes Din’s expression is one of bliss and not something else.

Din’s abs flex and a thin shot of come spills out of Din onto the floor between them. Fucking hell, he came untouched. Migs isn’t sure if it was a mirror of his own reaction, half based on relief or if Din is just that into giving head—but he’s damn grateful for it.

“Yeah that’s it, let it out. You were so fucking good,” Migs presses a kiss against Din’s forehead before resting his head against Din’s in relief. “God, you are so fucking brave. I was wrong about you. You _are_ better than the rest of us. Better than me.”

Din cries out his hips thrusting forward as he rides out the tail end of his orgasm, the praise pushing him higher just like Migs hoped it might. Not that he doesn’t mean every single fucking word—because he does.

Migs grips the back of Din’s neck hesitant to let go. Not knowing how he’ll react once he is out of the moment. If he could—if they just had enough time—but they don’t. 

He just has to trust in Din to hold it together long enough to make it out of here and then—well Migs doesn’t fucking know. He wants to hold Din, apologize for hours and swear to make this up to him and do his damnedest to make sure Din knows that he has nothing at all to be ashamed of. 

That none, absolutely none of it was his fault. 

“We need to go,” Migs says, his forehead still pressed tightly against Din’s. His grip tightens when he feels Din start to shake against him. Fuck he needs some aftercare, Migs would never leave someone like this if he had any choice. He pulls back and tilts Din’s head up so that Din can look into his eyes and know he means every word when he speaks.

“What happened? None of it was your fault, not how you felt, how your body reacted—none of it. I was doing everything I could to make sure you liked it, if anyone is to blame it’s me got it?” Migs looks deeply into Din’s eyes, willing him to understand. “You deserved better than this.

“Better than me—better than some fucking asshole who would have gladly sold you for pennies not even a year ago. Whatever—whatever happens? Don’t hate yourself, hate me, we both know I more than deserved it even before this,” Migs swallows heavily. 

“What I said on the way over? I was wrong. What happened here? It doesn’t make you dirty like I am. I—this—nothing that happened here makes you any less of a Mandalorian,” Din’s eyes cloud, a sore spot, and he looks at the ground. “I swear to you—”

Another explosion vibrates the ground. Fuck they don’t have time. He spares half a second to look at Din, to feel him under his hands before he’s turning away with a whispered apology.

He makes short work of freeing Din from the restraints and brings over the gear he came in and sets it down on the nearby table. Migs looks around for something—there! He spots a towel and brings that over too. His stomach twists when he sees Din still sitting there on his knees, rubbing absentmindedly at his wrists making no move to stand, his eyes worryingly vacant. His body faintly trembling.

Fuck. 

Migs looks at the door and then the three cooling bodies on the floor before turning back to Din. He squats down on Din’s level. Din doesn’t react. Probably in fucking shock now that the endorphins have worn off. He tilts Din’s head up with a hand until his eyes are focused on him.

“I’m going to get you cleaned up and dressed and then you are going to follow me out of here okay?” Din’s eyes go unfocused for a brief moment before he tilts his head in a jerky nod. 

It’s been a long time since Migs last had to deal with a squadmate who went into shock—and never for a reason like this—but he does the only thing he knows how to do in a situation like this. He gives an order like he expects it to be followed. Praying that Mandos have the same deeply ingrained training to follow orders like troopers do.

Din doesn’t protest when Migs cleans up the mess he made of his stomach and chest. He doesn't resist when Migs moves him as he helps him get dressed. He quietly does whatever Migs tells him to do, but he’s more doll than man right now.

Migs hates it. Hates to see him like this. 

He hesitates with the helmet held in his hand for a moment. He touches Din’s cheek with a gloved hand, watches as Din leans into the touch, his eyes still frighteningly blank and Migs dies a little the inside. 

“Din I—” he cuts himself off. He has no business saying anything even if Din isn’t likely to understand it right now. He swallows heavily, he needs to focus on getting them out of this and nothing else. 

“I need you to trust me and listen to what I say, understand?” Din nods, some of the cloud in his eyes clearing away. _Some_ , but not enough to trust him to be of any use should they run into trouble. “You need to stay behind me and follow me. I’ll protect you. Whatever happens, you need to stick with me, can you do that?”

A pause and then Din nods, his face serious. Bit by bit he’s slowly coming back but it won’t be enough, not by a long shot. Migs hands over the helmet and watches half in worry and half in relief as Din’s face is hidden away once more. 

Migs turns to move away but Din makes an aborted motion as if he's trying to grab onto Migs only to stop himself. Migs doesn’t hesitate, reaching out and grabbing Din’s gloved hand.

Din’s grip is painful, nearly crushing at first. Migs just clenches his teeth and deals with it—he deserves far worse after all. It only lasts a few seconds before Din’s hold relaxes to something just south of painful. 

He pulls out one of his blasters with his free hand as they move to the door. 

“Ready?” Migs asks, knowing Din isn’t—can’t possibly be. Din’s helmet tips in a small nod just the same. Taking a deep breath he hits the controls for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent the last two and half hours polishing this up and it is now waaaaaaaaaay waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay past my bedtime. So any additional errors will have to be hunted down at a later time. 
> 
> Also, I will reply to the absolutely lovely comments with the full attention and love they deserve when I have higher brain function again. Used up all my reserves finishing this up and I ain't got nothing left. I will say that they fueled me greatly and I smiled like a dumbass frequently throughout my day as I read and re-read them all <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> Uhhh donno when the next chapter will be out but at least this one is super long eh? :D Freaking 11k Wack


	3. The Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gone over this one 10 times or so nitpicking it--time to call it and just release it into the wild. If there are still errors at this point? I don't even care haha. Let me know if any are glaring though and I'll go fix them.  
> Chapter 4 is in progress but it is slow going. RL is a kick in the pants right now so them apples. Expect further delays in comment replies again due to that, sorry! I will get to them when I can though. :)

Migs shoots the guard in the next room in the back the second the door slides open. Thank fucking God for soundproof interrogation rooms. His eyes dart around the room making sure it is clear before he leads Din out by the hand. He didn’t even react to the blaster shot.

Not fucking good. 

Well, it is better than if he had a panic response or some shit. But seriously? Not even a twitch of his fingers? A sign he’s lost way too deep in his own head. Reliving what happened, what Migs did, what _could_ have happened, how fucked his creed is after this?

So many possibilities and none of them good.

He’s going to be in need of some serious TLC after this fucking shitshow, but judging off the company he keeps? Migs isn’t sure anyone is qualified to give it. Not that Migs thinks he is or anything, being the fucker who caused the trauma in the first place.

But he’s got more than a fair bit of experience with aftercare after a dicey scene. Not really the same thing here, but it aint exact _not_ it either. Migs knows he sure as shit could use some aftercare being forced into the role of a fucking rapist. He feels like the worst scum in the galaxy at the moment and he knows it’s only going to get worse from here on out unless he takes steps to correct it.

Fat chance of that happening.

It’s no fucking wonder Din isn’t talking. Going nonverbal is a fairly common sign that someone went deep and is going to need some time and care to rise back up. 

It isn’t anything that should ever happen to a beginner, you’re meant to ease into it. Nothing even a fraction so heavy for someone’s first time doing a scene—let alone their first time doing _anything_. 

He knows the way Din is acting isn’t _just_ because of what they were forced to do. He was a deer in headlights the moment the helmet came off. Was nearly nonverbal then too. Whatever his creed is? It means more to Din than Migs could have imagined. 

If he had known it was a—a legit religious thing for the guy? He sure as fuck wouldn’t have been such an asshole about it on the way over. That Din was willing to go against his religious beliefs for that kid of his? That’s something he should have been praised for, not relentlessly mocked and shamed for. 

He really is an asshole, and normally he’s fine with it. Never been one for the whole sugar coating bullshit. If he sees something fucked up or hypocritical? He calls people on it, simple as that. 

But this time he’s so far in the wrong it makes his stomach roll. He pushes the feeling down as he glances back at Din.

If—when they get out of this he’ll make it right, or at least as right as he’s able to make it. They just have to make it out of this in one piece. Baby steps. He squeezes Din’s hand and gives him a nod. 

They’ll get through this, Migs will make sure of it. 

They slowly make their way through the base, troopers are running around in every direction. It’s chaotic and no one seems to know what is going on exactly. He overhears some talk of villagers making an assault, others say that the New Republic found the base, and there is even one guy loudly complaining that it was probably just a minor rhydonium accident and it’s nothing to be worried about.

There’s always one.

Sounds like the calvary really pulled out the stops to have them all this confused—a damn good thing because it lets Migs and Din slip quietly through without being stopped. They’re in no condition to fight their way out of the heart of the base so every second that goes by they don’t have their cover blown? 

Invaluable.

Migs had taken care to memorize the route they had taken down to the interrogation rooms so they make quick work of tracing their steps back up towards the surface levels. There are two checkpoints they’ll have no choice but to go through along the way. 

Migs might be able to BS his way through on his own, but not with a mute trooper holding his goddamn hand. The better trained guards at the security checkpoint would shoot first and ask questions later.

Fuck.

The closer they get to the first checkpoint the more twitchy Migs becomes. Even if he can get Din to release his hand and follow him through his silence and odd, jerky movements would damn them just the same. 

Migs takes a left turn and pulls Din into an alcove with him. He flips their positions so he’s on the outside and Din is barricaded in. He lets go of Din’s hand and grabs the back of his neck pulling his helmet down to rest against his head as a consolation for letting go of his hand.

And as a pre-reward for what he’s about to do.

“Hey,” his tone is soft, gentle. “I need you to stay here while I deal with the guards. I will come back for you once it’s safe. I promise. Can you stay here? Will you be good for me?” It’s feeble and he knows it—but Migs will do anything he can to increase their chances for survival at this point.

It’s bad fucking news to keep any sort of play in after a scene is over. Makes it hard to distinguish reality from fiction but if it keeps Din from panicking? Migs will say and do whatever he has to.

The consequences will be future Migs’s problem and frankly? Migs doesn’t give a shit about that guy at the moment. Future Migs won’t get to exist if he doesn’t manage to pull this off so he doesn’t get a say.

Din reaches up and mirrors the hold Migs has on him. His gloves creak as he tightens his grip on the back of Migs’s neck, just this side of too tight but not yet painful. 

He’s scared.

Migs had set himself up in a power position over Din, and as his protector through all of this. A position a man like him should never be in, but what can you do? 

“I’ll come back for you, I promise,” Migs swears to him, meaning every word. “I won’t leave you behind. I just—I just need you to stay here and stay calm. It will only be a couple of minutes. You’ve already been so brave today, I know you can do this.”

A muffled sound from Din, but no words. He’s not there yet.

Migs waits for Din to let go first, they don’t have a lot of time but what he’s asking of Din? It is no easy or small thing. Din gives him a small nod and steps back until his back is against the wall and then he slides down it until he’s in a crouch. 

Migs moves over and takes the blaster off of Din’s hip, placing it into Din’s hand.

“Anyone other than me comes into this alcove? Shoot them,” Din doesn’t acknowledge it aside from the tightening of his grip on the blaster. 

Good enough.

He doesn’t look back as he walks out of the alcove, his face already hardening into something menacing. The familiar broiling rage that he’s taken strides to work on since his imprisonment comes out in full force. 

He’s going to make every last son of a bitch in this place pay.

The guards working the checkpoint are tense, nervous. They probably don’t know any more than the rest of the troopers running around like chickens with their heads cut off. 

Good, that’ll make it easier for him. He puts on his best pissed-off superior officer face and strides up to them like he owns the place. 

“What the hell is going on here? You call this security? I could have shot and killed all three of you from the doorway with how lax you’re being,” Migs starts yelling as he approaches. The three guards stand to attention and move to salute on instinct drilled into them after years of being Imperials.

It’s like shooting womp rats in a barrel. One, two, headshots, and then a third to the side of the midsection where the armor is weakest and they are hitting the ground. Migs squats down and pulls the access badge off of the one with command colors.

He stares at it in his hand for a moment that stretches too long. They don’t have time but the thought of leaving here empty-handed—after everything they—everything _he_ put Din through? 

Din is going to need a win, something, _anything_ after this waking nightmare. Migs inserts the access badge into the slot on the console and starts typing rapidly. He initiates the Black Out protocol that will lock out the base from the Imperial network so they can’t send out a distress signal.

It’s not as good as if they had succeeded in gaining Gideon’s cruiser coordinates, but this way he at least won’t be tipped off that they’re gunning for him. Maybe they can set up an ambush set for when he is supposed to arrive to collect Din—two days if Hess is to be trusted.

It’s not much, really scraping the bottom of the barrel level of desperate last ditch ideas—but it’s all he’s got.

He pulls the keycard out and pockets it in case it might come in handy later. Stooping down he grabs one of the dead guards’ rifles and slings it over his shoulder. Never can have too many weapons, he thinks before he stands and moves over to collect Din.

“It’s me,” he says before he steps into view, not wanting to risk accidental friendly fire. Din sits there crouched down just where Migs had left him. The blaster pointed at the entryway is held steady.

Migs walks into the alcove and moves the blaster to be pointed at the ground rather than his chest with a hand. With his other he reclaims Din’s free hand and helps him to his feet. 

It’s like a switch being thrown, Migs watches as his whole body relaxes at their renewed contact. 

“You did good,” he tells him, giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s as safe as it’s gonna get out there. Come on.”

He leads Din through the base without encountering any snags for a good five minutes before everything goes to hell in a handbasket. 

They turn a corner and come to a long hallway where a group of five troopers are gathered on the end looking like they’re expecting trouble. Migs barely has time to push Din back around the corner and shield him as an explosion goes off nearby rocking the flooring. 

They’re close now. 

Before the dust has even settled Migs decides the jig is up. He goes down on one knee and balances his newly acquired rifle using his arm as a tripod and carefully takes aim. A moment to slow his breathing and then he’s opening fire on the group at the end of the hall. 

It’s a damn good thing that even after so many months in that prison colony his skills never got rusty. 

He mows them down methodically, not a shot wasted. As the last one is hitting the ground the sound of a blaster going off way too fucking close to his head has Migs jerking and moving to the side rifle at the ready only to see an already shot trooper fall to the ground.

Migs turns his head to see Din holding his blaster out as steady as can be. Din’s helmet turns to look at him, Migs wipes away the sweat beading on his forehead.

“Thanks,” Din offers him a small nod, his blaster falling to once again point at the floor. Before he can say anything else the sound of footfalls approaching steals his attention.

They’ve got company.

Along with the sound of heavy booted steps, there is a steady increasing beeping sound. Migs would bet all the credits on base that’s the cavalry here to rescue them. 

“We’re over here, don’t shoot!” He calls out loudly gambling that he’s right.

He is.

“Mayfeld? Is that your sorry ass I hear?” Migs lets out a huff of laughter, tension bleeding out of him at the familiar voice. God, if someone would have said he’d be happy to hear the voice of a _cop_ —a fucking marshal no less? He’d have laughed them out of town.

He lets the rifle fall from his hands and swing back against his body on its sling. He raises his hands high above his head as he gets up.

“Never thought I’d be happy about being tagged like an animal and yet here we are,” he says as he gets to his feet. Cara Dune is approaching from down the long hallway, a halo of fire behind her framing her silhouette and the heavy gatling blaster balanced on her hip at the ready.

Like an angel of death down from heavens to wreak havoc on the sinners—a frightening and beautiful sight all in one.

“Is Din with you?” She asks, her face twisted with worry.

“Yeah, he’s here—he’s uhh—” Migs looks back at Din hoping he’s feeling up to talking but no dice. “He can’t—he can’t talk right now. He’s not—he’s not himself right now. I can’t explain, you’ll just have to trust me okay?”

Her eyes narrow, she doesn’t like his non-answer at all. Migs can’t blame her, he’d be pissed about it too if he were in her shoes. 

“Trust. You,” she says it like it’s a joke. “A fucking Imp?” Migs grinds his teeth together. He hates when people can’t see past his Imperial days. That was a long time ago and they did not part ways on good terms.

Fuck it, Migs thinks as he turns back around and offers Din a hand up from where he’s couched down low. Din’s hand shakes faintly as he reaches up for Migs. Fearing how his friend will react to seeing him like this. 

If that ain’t a punch to the gut.

**Safe.**

Migs taps into Din’s palm before he takes Din’s hand. He stares into Din’s helmet trying to ground him just as had he done earlier. He had kept his promise then of not letting anything happen to Din, and he’ll keep it now.

“Is that—” Dune starts to say as she walks up only to stop abruptly when she sees their joined hands. He glares at her as if daring her to say something. She looks like she wants to, as if she has a thousand and one questions, but with a grimace she swallows them down when Din doesn’t even raise his helmet to look up at her.

Migs turns back to look at Din, gripping his hand tightly within his own. He leans forward halfway, an offer.

Din accepts, his helmet just barely leaning against Migs. A sharp intake of breath from Dune, but Migs could care less. Well, he cares a little how Din will feel about this display later when he’s got his head on straight but in the moment? He clearly needs something and if the cop is anything like a real friend? 

She’ll pretend this never happened and take it to her goddamn grave.

Migs pulls back first, they don’t have much time. He turns back to see Dune with an uncomfortable look on her face—like she ate something sour. The feeling is mutual with having her here to witness this shit. 

It’s not like he enjoys being openly _gentle_ with someone either. This kind of soft bullshit is meant for the privacy of a bedroom and that’s it. 

She looks away first.

That’s what I fucking thought, he thinks to himself smugly. A petty victory but he’ll take whatever the hell he can get at this point. 

“Same as last time, okay?” He says to Din, not expecting a response. He moves to join Dune at the end of the hall, Din following dutifully behind. Dune doesn’t comment on the handholding, thank fuck, instead, she focuses on leading them out of the base. 

They encounter scattered troopers along the way but they make short work of them between his rifle and Dune’s fucking gatling blaster. Dune speaks into a communicator telling the other two that she found them and that they’re on their way to the roof. 

Migs then finds out that Dune had stormed the building _by herself_ while Fett provided air support and Fennec sniped troopers left and right sowing chaos to make the base believe it was under assault by a much larger force.

“You came for him alone?” He asks, completely blown away that she would be that ballsy. He knew she would come for Din but to go so far? “Shit, you shock troopers really are a whole other breed aren’t you?” 

She offers him a feral smile, all sharp teeth. Din sure knows how to pick them.

That’s the last they get to talk as the closer they get to the rooftop and rescue the heavier the resistance they encounter. Din is off his game, but even still he manages to take out whatever Dune and Migs miss before they become an issue. 

Eventually, they make it to the rooftop and that’s when things start to get dicey. Migs watches with clenched teeth as their ride is stuck in a dog fight with two tie fighters. Fett’s ship is old as dirt but surprisingly maneuverable—but it still doesn’t look good. Fett is climbing straight up with both fighters on his tail, Migs doesn’t know what he thinks he’s doing pulling a move like that. The fighters will have a firing loc—

Okay, the seismic charges were a surprise. Holy shit, even from here it was louder than God. 

The distraction allows Fennec to pick off the last distracted troopers on the rooftop. She fires off a grappling hook and repels to their location for pick up. Fett loops around and opens the bay for them to get inside. Fennec and Dune get aboard without any issue, but when it gets to their turn they hit a snag when a squad of troopers makes it to the rooftop. 

Dune starts laying down covering fire while Fennec picks them off with her rifle but it makes things complicated. Migs pulls Din forward and physically shoves him as they run towards the moving ramp when Fett starts to lift off to avoid incoming fire. 

“You first!” He shouts over the blaster fire and the roar of the ship’s engines. Din hesitates, “I’ll be right behind you. GO!” Din follows the order and jumps aboard immediately turning around waiting for Migs. 

“Getting too fucking old for this shit!” He shouts as he makes his own jump. He falls short of the mark, not exactly a surprise with the condition his knees are in. 

Well, this is it, he thinks but a gloved hand is catching his arm and holding on tight. Migs looks up to see Din half hanging over the edge of the ramp as he grabs Migs. The two ladies rush to help pull Migs up onto the ramp.

Once he’s on the ramp he stays on his hands and knees for a good few seconds as he pants in great gasps of air trying to catch his breath. His heart is going a million miles an hour from the near-death experience. Fuck, that was close. His eyes zero in on the hand still gripped tightly around his forearm.

Din didn’t let go.

Migs looks up to see Din staring at him, his chest heaving just as much as his own. They stare at each other in silence for what feels like an eternity but could have only been a few seconds before sounds rush back in and it feels like Migs can breathe again.

“Thank you,” it’s not enough, but it’s all that Migs has to offer. Din’s helmet moves in a jerky motion that could almost be called a nod. Migs puts his hand over the one on his forearm and taps out the words again. 

So Din will know that he really means it. 

Din slumps backward, like a doll with its strings cut. Relatable. Migs wishes he could join him but he made a promise and he intends to keep it. He gives Din’s hand one last reassuring touch before he is standing and turning away.

He pulls the rifle up from where it hangs off the sling and lines up his iron sights. He doesn’t need a scope for this shot—he didn’t earn the title of sharpshooter for nothing after all. A steady breath in, hold for a split second, and on the exhale he squeezes the trigger.

A shout of surprise from Fennec and Dune next to him as the rhydonium goes. He slings the rifle back over his shoulder and spits over the side of the ramp before turning back around to help Din to his feet.

“I keep my promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning--there is a 30% chance the fourth chapter will undergo mitosis, I can smell the possibility but we won't know til we get there. Either way, it's gonna be another big boy chapter so that's nice. 
> 
> Welp, have a lovely day/week y'all ^___^
> 
> Edit: 


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